


Home - Aimee's Story

by there_are_no_strangers



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_are_no_strangers/pseuds/there_are_no_strangers





	Home - Aimee's Story

Aimee filled the old tea kettle with water and put it on the stove, grabbing her favorite mug from the cupboard along with a peppermint tea bag. She reached up and rubbed her neck, sore after a long day with the new hire and a barn full of unbroken horses. A hot cup of tea, just like her Gran used to make, was what she needed to wash away the stress of the day.

She bobbed the teabag in the water, mesmerized by the waves it made in the cup. A knock at the front door broke into her thoughts. Frowning, she pulled a worn flannel shirt over her white camisole. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Besides, her friends used the back door that led into the kitchen, not the more formal front entrance.

Another rap at the door, this time louder with more urgency, and Aimee’s heart sped up as her steps quickened. What if it was bad news? Her father was under as much stress as she was, maybe more. After his health scare last year, she was worried that anything more might cause a mild heart attack. Rushing now to the door, she pulled it open, the solid wood door creaking as it slid open, and she sucked in a deep breath at the sight in front of her. “Eliot.”

Aimee hadn’t realized that she’d said his name aloud until she noticed the ever so slight reaction to her voice in his raised eyebrows. His hands were pushed into the pocket of his faded jeans, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked worn and tired, uncharacteristic for the normally virile man she knew. Sunken eyes cast down, he refused to meet her dazed stare. “Can I come in?”

Eliot’s voice was deep and gravelly, like a wounded animal. Taken aback by his request, it wasn’t like him to ask to enter her house, hell, it wasn’t like him to even be on her doorstep, Aimee only nodded and moved to the side to allow him to pass then turned and watched his feet take slow, deliberate steps toward the living room, noting a slight limp.

It wasn’t until he was under the full light of the living room chandelier that she began to realize why Eliot was here. A dark purple half moon shone under his left eye, his cheeks were chafed and red, and a cut on his lower lip had puffed it into a surprisingly enticing swollen plump. Moving her eyes downward she noticed that his forearms, bared by his trademark rolled-to-the-elbow sleeves, were peppered with fresh bruises and the knuckles on both hands were crusted over with blood.

Aimee had met Eliot’s ‘family’. They had helped her father, and it was a debt she would never forget, albeit one that she didn’t much care to owe to the likes of Eliot Spencer. Still, in a way it had helped heal the old wounds from Eliot leaving so many years ago. She had never really gotten over him, but his help with her father had gone a long way in mending the fence.

Still, knowing that new family of his, knowing what they did and how far they strayed from center of legal – that sometimes kept Aimee awake at night. She worried that Eliot might get himself into trouble, he had a knack for that, and now here he was, bruised and bloodied and looking like he was fighting invisible demons inside his head. Knowing Eliot as well as she did, if he looked this bad, the other guy – she shuddered and pushed that thought away. She just hoped the other guy had lived to tell his story.

“Well don’t just stand there. You look tired enough to drop, and I’m not picking your ass up when you do. Sit down before you pass out, Eliot.” Aimee pointed to the overstuffed flowered sofa behind him. She shifted into her brusque, bossy mode that only Eliot could bring out. She couldn’t help it, it was self-preservation.

He didn’t protest, merely followed her orders quietly and sank down, his solidly built frame dipping deep into the soft cushions. The contrast of this physically imposing man against the soft pastel flowered print sofa should have been comical, but only Eliot Spencer could manage to look right at home.

As his body sank deeply into the soft cushions, his eyelids drooped slightly then popped open again, as he tried to force himself to look alert. It was barely perceptible, but Aimee noticed and softened a little. “I just brewed tea but you look like you could use something stronger. Whiskey?” Eliot nodded, and she heard a mumbled “mmmmmm” as she turned toward the kitchen.

Pulling two glasses from the cupboard, she poured the amber liquid into each and wondered what her life would be like if he hadn’t left all those years ago. Would this be their nightly ritual, sharing a glass of whiskey after a long day. She would rub his neck, massage the sore muscles, and release the tension. He would rub her back, fingers exploring her soft skin, sending electrifying jolts through her entire being. They would spend hours making love – raw, sexual passion carrying them through until the early morning hours when they would have to get up to tend to the farm, together. It was a life she had looked forward to once upon a time.

She shook her head to clear the thoughts, wishing she could un-think them. This Eliot was a different man than her high-school sweetheart. She knew, logically, that he had changed. Her heart, well, her heart hadn’t quite caught up with her head. Still, the young girl was somewhere inside of her and every time Eliot came around, damn if he didn’t bring those feeling right to the surface. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of the whiskey, and took a long sip to steady herself before facing him again.

Aimee rounded the corner to the living room with two glasses of liquid comfort but stopped short when she saw Eliot, sitting upright on the sofa, head tilted backward, eyes closed and breath coming in soft, murmured puffs. She cocked her head and smiled at the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, she didn’t want to wake him. Setting the glasses on the coffee table, she softly dropped down on the cushion next to him and felt him stir next to her. “I’m awake.” He snapped to attention and his body stiffened as he tried to gain control of his environment.

“Shhhhh.” Aimee cradled his head in her hands, softly threading her fingers through the long, silky strands of chestnut colored hair. It was longer now, it suited his gruff personality better, and it was kinda hot, although she wouldn’t admit that to anyone. She moved along the sofa, guiding his head downward with his body, and nestled it in her lap. When he tried to protest, she pushed him back down. “Just settle down. You need to relax and sleep. You’re safe here. I promise.”

Her words seemed to soothe him, she felt his stiff form begin to unwind. She slumped against the cushion and wound her fingers through his soft hair, encouraged by the moans that came every so often from between his swollen lips. “Fingernails.” One word, Aimee knew precisely what he wanted, exactly what he needed, it was like he had never left. The tips of her fingers gently scraped his scalp, eliciting more pleas as he snuggled closer into her, “Mmmm. Don’t stop.” She smiled. Eliot was home.


End file.
